


My December

by panicparade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco, Auror Harry, Aurors, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Romantic Gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicparade/pseuds/panicparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s at a function he doesn’t want to be, again. All he needs is a little push in the direction or towards the right person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My December

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkravenwrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/87464.html) for the 2014 HD_Owlpost Winter Fest. 
> 
> Dear darkravenwrote, here’s a fluffy little Christmas story for you! I hope you like it! :) Fixed and made prettier by digthewriter who is awesome! <3 Title is a song by Linkin Park.

Harry frowns trying to smooth down the collar of his dress robes, the material soft under his fingers, and he fumbles with it for what feels like the hundredth time. After being in his standard issue Auror robes all day long, all he wants is to relax in his threadbare pyjamas with maybe a butterbeer or two and watch the snow fall outside his window. Instead, here he is, standing in the foyer of the Phoenix Ballroom; an opulent and excessively shiny building built a year after the war to host all Ministry functions. Harry had been the one to inaugurate it with a fake smile plastered on his face as he cut the ribbon.  
  
The money spent on building this unnecessary monstrosity could have been used to help in the rehabilitation process of all those who lost their homes in the war. Except, why would anyone listen to him he was just there to cut ribbons and wave?  
  
If only Draco could have been here, Harry thinks dejectedly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It had been five years since the war ended and three since Harry and Draco had been Auror partners, and  _honestly_ , Harry thinks, if he can start calling Draco by his first name and actually compliment him around other people, he doesn’t see why the Ministry still refuses to invite Draco, and others, to such events.  
  
“The feast is for only for heroes and survivors, and not for pardoned Death Eaters,” Draco had explained, for the hundredth time that day when Harry wouldn’t stop cribbing about it in the office. They should have been filling the paperwork on the Axlebury Kidnappings, but Harry preferred putting his head on the desk and staring at the wall.  
  
Harry sighed, making the still empty forms in front of him flutter, “But I don’t want to go! It’s boring and I have to keep shaking hands and smiling all night long!”  
  
“Oh, the atrocities they make you bear,” Draco said, not as sympathetically as Harry would have liked. “Tell you what,” he continued, “seeing as how you’re already going to be suffering so much tonight I’ll take the paperwork home and finish it. No, really, it’s okay,” Draco hastened to explain, the light flush on his cheeks making Harry stare, “it’s not like I’ll have anything else to do. You go and have fun.”  
  
It had taken Harry a minute to realise that he’d still been staring, the flush on Draco’s cheeks growing more pronounced until he had coughed once, bringing Harry’s attention back to the world around them and not just on the man in front of him. Harry felt the heat rising in his cheeks but he hadn’t been able to keep the smile off his face.  
  
A quick glance had shown him that Draco had the same little smile on his face, too.  
  


*^*

  
  
He sighs and nods as someone greets him, too intent on getting the lapels to sit right.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
Hermione is walking towards him, her red floor-length ball gown flowing around her. For some reason, Harry really misses the Hogwarts uniform right now. Standing here, decked in clothes he wouldn’t ever willingly wear, Harry feels like something crucial is missing and yet, everything is still the same, right down the worried frown on Hermione’s face.  
  
“I was just about to enter, I swear,” Harry promises, turning back to his reflection to escape the knowing look on her face.  
  
She moves to stand between Harry and the mirror and bats his hands away, fixing the collar herself, there’s a spot of ink on her ear and Harry knows,  _he knows_  that he’s not the only one feeling this way.  
  
“Why are we here again?” he asks, barely resisting the urge to rest his head on her shoulder and whine till Hermione offers a solution.  
  
She shrugs, “I don’t about you, but I’m here for those amazing hors d'oeuvres, you know, the bacon wrapped dates? I absolutely  _love_ those and Ron’s here for the free alcohol. Not to mention, I like dressing up occasionally.” Hermione smirks as she gently pushes Harry away from the mirror, not towards the doors leading to the ballroom but towards the exit.  
  
“What –”  
  
“—Go.” Hermione smiles as she pulls Harry’s bowtie off and hands it to him, “I’ll tell them you had an emergency, make it sound mysterious enough that they forget to question what happened.”  
  
Harry runs a hand through his hair, ruining the  _artfully_ messy look the charm had promised, “I can’t, they’re expecting me in there, I have to give a speech.” Even he can hear the scorn in his tone, the hint of annoyance pushing through because it’s been  _four years_  and he’s  _truly_ had enough.  
  
Hermione’s knowing look is enough to make him laugh, the robes feeling more comfortable and less suffocating now. “Ron can give the speech; I’ll make it up to him later.”  
  
They smile and greet the Head of Department for Muggle Relations, the portly wizard smiling cheerfully, and stumbling past them towards the loo’s, clearly having fully utilised the open bar.  
  
“Lunch tomorrow?” Harry asks, giving Hermione a quick hug as he walks backwards towards the door, unbuttoning his robes.  
  
“Of course,” Hermione says with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I’ll want to know every detail.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Nothing.” She shakes her head and the carefully hanging curls swing around her face, “Oh, and Harry?” She waits till Harry looks up, “He’ll be at home right now, I suggest taking a gift.”  
  
Harry hurries out the building and checks his watch, it’s ten minutes to nine and he decides to make a stop before heading over to the place he really wanted to be tonight.  
  


*^*

  
  
He’s dressed in his best robes and his hair is passably styled. There’s a bag of curry takeaway in one hand as he raises the other to knock on the door but stalls.  
  
It takes Harry a moment to realise that he’s nervous, which is ridiculous because he’s been to Draco’s house so many times, he even knows where the extra linens are kept. And yet, this time feels different, more significant than all others and  _that_  makes Harry knock confidently on the door.  
  
Harry’s counted until thirty beats before the door opens to show Draco standing there in his pyjamas and an oversized jumper, his hair still wet from the shower.  
  
“Hi.” Harry greets him cheerfully, his smile probably big enough to worry Draco but he can’t care right now because he had thought that he’d lost  _that jumper_.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Draco asks, moving to let Harry in, taking the bag of food and peering inside. Harry mentally high fives himself when Draco smiles, clearly happy at seeing his all his favourites in the bag. The little detour was worth it.  
  
Harry unbuttons his outer robe and makes himself comfortable on the floor in front of the fire, “I was standing there at the party and I realised, it’s not fair that you have all the fun with the paper work by yourself. Also, I was craving spicy food.”  
  
He can hear Draco pulling out plates and cutlery in the little kitchen off the living room, his voice hard to hear over the sounds as he replies, “So you’re here for the paperwork and food?”  
  
Harry helps Draco arrange the plates in front of them before Draco sits down across from him, deliberately not meeting his eyes. Harry can't help but wonder just how he never realised how obtuse Draco can be when he wants to.  
  
“Draco,” Harry calls out softly, waiting for Draco to look up, the over large jumper sliding down one pale shoulder, “I’m here for  _you_ , paperwork and curry are just added incentives that I don’t need.”  
  
Draco coughs, once, twice, playing with the sleeves of the jumper, “Ah. Ahem . . . I mean . . . in that case . . . I’m glad you’re here.”  
  
Harry smiles and starts opening the food containers. He starts a relatively lighthearted conversation about the Health Minister’s love for sequined dress robes, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. He doesn’t mind buying Draco a meal every day for the rest of his life if there can be more moments like these.  
  
But, for now, he’s happy with taking it one at a time, especially when Draco leans against him as they work on filling the forms and brushes a kiss against Harry’s cheek before listing all the spells that were used.  
 _  
_


End file.
